


He's Got A Mouth On Him

by twigglettz



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Dom/sub, Fallout Kink Meme, M/M, Maybe a little dub-con?, Oral Sex, PWP, Power Play, What is it with me and rare pairs?, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigglettz/pseuds/twigglettz
Summary: It was just an innocent comment, really. An offhand joke that his alcohol fuelled brain thought was hilarious.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally for a prompt in the Fallout Kink Meme that I started like, a bajillion eons ago. I didn't stick around for long because of reasons, but I guess the inspiration stuck wth me. 
> 
> For those interested in the link, I'm wary of posting it because it caused a lot of drama, but I'm sure you can find it if you're desperate.
> 
> "Any character, actively getting off on the size of Maxson's cock. It's bigger than average, thick, long, breathtaking, and leaves the other person practically gagging for it."

If he had a cap for every time someone told him his big mouth would get him into trouble, MacCready would be set for life. Sure, he'd ended up with a few black eyes and broken ribs in the past, and on one occasion a very painful rash from a particularly busty ghoul, but he never thought he'd fuck things up this royally. 

He'd had a few drinks with Nate and Danse in Danse's quarters, just three guys letting off a little steam after a hard day of clearing a few buildings of super mutants. He'd seen an unopened bottle of scotch hiding behind a counter and had grabbed it, fully intending to neck the thing himself. When they got back to the Prydwen, however, it was already starting to get dark and for some reason, one that he'd purposefully not bothered to listen to, the vertibirds had been grounded until the morning. So Dance had ordered some Brotherhood lackeys to make up a couple of bunks and while they were waiting, he busted out the scotch and Danse had grabbed three glasses. Well, technically, one glass, a mug and something MacCready thought flowers should be kept in, but Dance had kept that one for himself so he couldn't really complain. 

It had been a good day, actually. So his stupid mouth was bound to fuck it up at some point.

It was just an innocent comment, really. An offhand joke that his alcohol fuelled brain thought was hilarious. And really, when it came down to it, Elder Maxson kinda deserved it. He was what, 16? 18? A silly little kid dressed up in daddy's big boy shoes pretending to be a man, stomping around his little metal balloon giving people orders like he owned the whole fucking Commonwealth. Sure, he could pull off that ruggedly handsome look and his arms were probably thicker than MacCready's whole body put together, and maybe, just maybe, he was a little jealous of the coat, but what had that got to do with anything? So when he'd leaned over the table and said that with all of his muscles and his huge ship and his stupidly overpowered Gatling gun, Maxson must be overcompensating for something, he did have a point. And anyway, what were the chances of the Elder walking by the room at that exact moment? He shouldn't be blamed for any of this, and Maxson should not have stormed in, grabbed him by the neck of his duster and out of his chair. He had no right to haul him into his quarters in the next room over, yelling about insubordination when MacCready tried to explain it was a joke.

And right now, MacCready should definitely not be sat in front of the Elder, casually leaning back against his terminal desk, arms crossed against his broad, heavy chest, silently staring holes into the older man's soul. His coat was lying haphazardly on the bed and if MacCready had thought he looked big with it on, then he was the size of a goddamned Deathclaw in just his Brotherhood emblazoned fatigues. 

“So.” If he was being spoken to by anyone else, MacCready might have thought they were coming onto him. His voice sounded like the taste of whiskey; warm, honey tones masking the fiery burn underneath. “Danse told me you like to run your mouth.” Maxson paused briefly, letting his tongue swipe across his bottom lip and any witty comment MacCready had got lined up vanished instantly. Maxson leaned forward, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on top of MacCready's thighs. 

“What I'd like to find out, soldier, is if we can put it to better use.” 

–

MacCready's mouth opened and shut a couple of times, his brain working a million miles an hour trying to process what the actual fuck was going on and coming up with nothing. All he could focus on was the press of those huge fingers on his legs and the dizzying scent of sweat and oil that rolled off Maxson with as much force as a radiation storm. A slow smile spread across Maxson's face at his inability to speak, predatory and intimidating and sinful as all hell. Oh, it'd been a while since MacCready had been with a man. Or with anyone, really, not since he lived in Goodneighbour. He was used to picking someone up at a bar, a little or a lot drunk, average looking at best. He was never that picky, just liked someone easy to chat to for a night and who would be gone by morning. He wasn't used to... this. Wasn't used to being seduced, if that was even the right word for whatever the fuck Maxson was doing, wasn't used to near 300 pounds of muscle leaning over him and giving him a look that could fell whole armies.

He shuffled nervously in his seat and came to the sudden realisation that he was hard, his cock making an obscene tent in his pants. Maxson followed his gaze down, an amused hum rumbling in his chest, and MacCready felt his cheeks flush red at the obviousness of it all. Maxson ignored his embarrassment, bringing one hand up to MacCready's face, huge, blunt fingers sliding across his jaw, through his hair, settling on the side of his face. He traced his lower lip with his thumb, a surprisingly gentle gesture in the midst of a hurricane of power play, and MacCready let his eyes slip shut. He imagined those fingers inside him, stretching him so wide it burned, rubbing his prostate so mercilessly he saw stars. He let out a soft groan, sliding his tongue out to meet Maxson's thumb, and when he looked back up, Maxson's pupils were blown wide with lust. 

“Such a pretty mouth,” he cooed and MacCready felt a strange sense of pride at the compliment. Maxson pulled back abruptly, leaning back on his desk like nothing had just happened. MacCready's chest was heaving with every breath, red faced and wide eyed, frantically trying to figure out if this was all some sort of sick joke.

“So, soldier.” Maxson's tone was heavy and commanding, echoing against the metal walls. “I will not stand subordination and the disrespect of one's commanding officers on my ship. And whilst you are not officially a member of the Brotherhood, I expect you to live up to our standards whilst you're on the Prydwen. Am I making myself clear?” MacCready nodded his head a little too quickly. “But as you're being such an obedient little soldier, I'll go easy on you. Get on your knees.”

Words were still not forming fully in MacCready's head, although he was pretty sure now it was the lust at fault instead of the drink. His erection throbbed painfully at the request, and Maxson made no effort to unzip himself. He slid heavily off the chair, knees planting painfully into the steel floor, hands coming up to brace against Maxson's thighs. They felt like concrete beneath his fingers, firm and unwavering and with a quick glance up to gauge Maxson's reaction, he let his head fall forward, nuzzling his cheek against the covered flesh and breathing in his scent. His hands started roaming on their own accord, fingernails leaving little marks on the fabric, sliding up to grab at his ass. MacCready was already breathing heavily, and when he opened his eyes to fumble at Maxson's zip, his breath hitched in his throat at the size of the bulge. Oh, Maxson was definitely not overcompensating. He hadn't even realised he'd been staring until Maxson brushed his fingers though his hair, urging him on. 

–

Maxson unfastened the buckle around his own neck with his spare hand and the metallic noise jolted MacCready out of his trance, eyes flicking up to watch the larger man pull apart the fastenings across his chest. They stopped just above his navel, leaving a delicious sliver of dark hair visible in the artificial light, and MacCready swallowed hard. He forced himself to focus on the task of hand, and pulled down the zipper on Maxson's crotch, earning himself a hum of satisfaction from the man in front of him. Maxson wasn't wearing underwear, and his cock made a decent enough attempt at jutting through the hole in the fabric by itself, but it was large enough for the head to still be trapped inside. If MacCready thought that he smelled good before, he was in definite need of dictionary. He was expecting the usual grime that everyone seemed to carry with them in the Commonwealth, especially when it came to sex, so he was surprised that under the sheen of sweat he could only smell the remnants of soap. God, he could just imagine it, the water glistening off Maxson's skin, suds tracing down his biceps, his abs, catching on the hard lines of his cock. MacCready leaned forward, licking a stripe up the side of the shaft that was exposed, and he shuddered harder at the sensation than Maxson did, following the motion afterwards with the tip of his nose. 

“Such a good soldier,” Maxson murmured, fingers easing their grip on the older man's hair. Any other time and MacCready knew he'd bristle at the praise, would run his mouth off like a spoilt child until he proved them wrong, but all his brain could focus on was the sheer _want_ that was clouding his judgement. He started trailing open mouthed kisses across the hard skin in front of him, slowly edging down Maxson's length until he reached the bottom the zip, before his head was pulled back sharply. When he looked up in question, Maxson locked eyes with him, using his spare hand to pull his open fatigues over one shoulder. MacCready felt his mouth go dry, cock twitching, when he pushed it down as far as it would allow, revealing a deliciously pink nipple between the curls on his chest. He wanted to surge up, to lick and suck and bite until it turned an angry red, until it pebbled and hardened under his touch, until Maxson had to use his brute strength to force him to stop.

“Stay.” MacCready felt a flash of panic at the realisation that Maxson knew what he was thinking, could read the lust on his face, but then he untangled his hand from his hair, and brought down the other side of his clothing, too. The fabric stretched impossibly tight over the muscles on his arms, the bottom seam across his stomach threatening to tear with the pressure, and MacCready found himself hoping it would, hoping it'd split all the way down to his cock. It didn't, and Maxson pulled his arms from the sleeves one after another, letting it drop down to his waist. It hung there, a strip of elastic snug round his hips the only thing that was keeping it up. It must have been tailored to his body, MacCready reckoned, and tried to squash the sudden wave of jealousy before it started. He slowly brought his hand up, gauging the reaction on Maxson's face, fingers sliding past his still-trapped cock to tease the hair on his abdomen. Maxson licked his lips unconsciously, so MacCready took that as a cue to venture higher, using his fingernails to rake up the sharp lines of muscle and soft hair, tongue peeking out to lap at his cock again. The moment he let his eyes slip shut again, Maxson grabbed the collar of his duster with a growl, and hauled him to his feet hard enough that he yelped when the fabric pulled at his throat. 

“Strip, soldier.”


End file.
